“I, Du, in this life have only trod the paths of Cloudwave Isle, Kangyang Isle, and the Central Divine Isle, a mere half of the Eastern Continent,” the elder lamented, his voice echoing in the chamber. “Within those realms, no vein of thunder did I ever encounter.”

He spread his hands, a gesture of helplessness. “Of this matter, I know naught…yet, I can inquire on your behalf. Perhaps within the Great Soul Sect, some may possess such knowledge. For as one of the Nine Sects and Thirteen Schools, their disciples venture far and wide, their experiences diligently reported back to the fold, a crucial part of their training.” Du Qing shook his head. The Immortal Astral Continent was vast beyond imagining, and even a single continent like the East remained largely unexplored. To have wandered across four, including Celestial Ox Isle, was considered a remarkable feat.

Wang Lin nodded slowly, his eyes clouded in thought. After a moment, he turned to Du Qing, his voice casual, almost an afterthought.

“The Eastern Shrine Sect…on which isle does it reside?”

“The Eastern Shrine Sect?” Du Qing’s brow furrowed. He paused, gathering his thoughts. “The Eastern Shrine Sect is also among the Nine Sects and Thirteen Schools. It dwells in the far north of the Eastern Continent, on Great Sage Isle. Rumors whisper that the sect is shrouded in mystery, its disciples rarely venturing beyond its gates.”

Wang Lin posed a few more questions, then feigned a weariness that did not escape Du Qing’s experienced gaze. The elder swiftly rose to take his leave, vowing with unwavering conviction as he departed.

“Rest assured, friend! I shall rally the full might of my sect to locate the lesser veins and tributaries of the Earth-Fire. If the Spirit of the Vessel can be retrieved, my disciples shall deliver it to you with utmost reverence.”

No sooner had Du Qing vanished than he unleashed a flurry of commands throughout the sect. Three powerful cultivators, each a Great Elder, led companies of Azure Dragon disciples towards the cardinal directions. Even the elder who had suffered the curse of wood, his form petrified as punishment, was released to atone for his transgression, sent on a desperate search for the Earth-Fire’s scattered essence.

Alone once more, Wang Lin sat cross-legged within the lavish cave dwelling. Bathed in the soft glow of luminous pearls, he seemed wreathed in a shimmering mist, an ethereal presence in the heart of the Azure Dragon Sect.

His mind remained troubled, the elder’s words echoing in his thoughts.

“The Origin of Thunder, too, requires a true body…” He murmured, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “I must not place all my hopes on the Eastern Shrine Sect’s Eastern Pool…the memories of the Seven-Colored Immortal Sovereign, Su Dao, may be embellished.”

“If the Origin of Thunder is to manifest, it demands an immense surge of power…” he mused. “If this Immortal Astral Continent holds veins of Earth-Fire, surely there must be veins of thunder as well…”

“Yet, the most pressing matter remains the creation of my own true body of Fire…perhaps, I must journey to the Great Soul Sect myself…” A faint line appeared between his brows. The Great Soul Sect, in his eyes, loomed as a colossal, unyielding force.

“Du Qing spoke of the Great Soul Sect’s Patriarch, his cultivation so profound that he, too, had forged a true Origin body…” Wang Lin rubbed his temples, a sigh escaping his lips.

“My cultivation is not yet sufficient…though, all is not lost…” A spark ignited in his eyes as he remembered the Returning Unity Sect, and the elder Ma who knew of the connection between Xuan Luo and himself…

But swiftly, he banished the notion of seeking their aid. The path was fraught with uncertainty, and his nature recoiled at the thought of relying on others.

“I must depend on myself. Though difficult, were I able to unleash the power of Space Condensation upon this land, all would not be impossible…” He closed his eyes, abandoning for now the pursuit of the Origin body, choosing instead to spread his spiritual sense, searching for a way to meld with the very fabric of the Astral Continent.

This arcane art, of immeasurable importance to his future endeavors, could, once regained, multiply his chances of survival and success.

His spiritual sense poured forth, seeping from the cave and swirling through the surrounding lands. Yet, despite his most earnest attempts, he could not fully become one with the world around him.

He could only merge a fraction, a mere sliver, and this sliver could not move him, only grant a short burst of instantaneous travel. But this was not what he sought.

It was as if an invisible barrier stood in his way, preventing complete integration. This barrier was the law of the Immortal Astral Continent itself, a formless pressure that stifled his efforts. Under its weight, one’s spiritual sense struggled to pierce through.

This was unlike the cave worlds, where such a barrier did not exist, where pressure was absent. There, a cultivator who understood the principles of Space Condensation could readily blend with the world and vanish.

Here, however, the pressure prevented his spirit from penetrating, and the art remained beyond his grasp.

Wang Lin sensed that this pressure was not directed at him alone, but encompassed the entire continent. Even Du Qing, with his considerable power, could not overcome it.

“Perhaps only those who attain the highest levels of cultivation can force their way through this barrier, to move by sheer strength of will…” Days passed, and Wang Lin repeatedly failed to achieve success.

But he would not surrender! Such was his nature. The more difficult the task, the more resolute he became. His spiritual sense danced within the Azure Dragon Sect, relentlessly attempting to pierce the veil.

Time flowed onward, and a month slipped by.

During that month, Wang Lin remained secluded, his spirit raging through the mountains. The Azure Dragon disciples, sensing his presence, dared not approach the hidden cave dwelling.

Du Qing, always vigilant, had noticed Wang Lin’s restless spirit from the very beginning. For days, he watched, but could not fathom what the traveler was trying to accomplish.

Only after several days of careful observation did enlightenment dawn.

“He seeks to merge his spirit with the world, to unite his being with the very essence of the heavens, and thus, to move through space…this is madness!” Du Qing muttered. “He might be able to accomplish teleportation, but his method seeks to traverse distances far beyond that! Such a feat is only possible for the ancient monsters of the Vacant Tribulation realm, those who possess a deep understanding of the Immortal Astral laws and the strength to defy its pressure.”

Du Qing shook his head, and slowly lost interest in Wang Lin’s strange efforts.
The moon waxed and waned, yet a full month had passed, and still the disciples of the Azure Dragon Sect could not locate a minor artery of terrestrial fire beyond the reach of Wang Lin’s spiritual sense. Even the four elders, with all their arcane knowledge, were thwarted in this endeavor.

Still, they pressed on, seeking in ever-widening circles.

Wang Lin, heedless of time’s passage, sat in the lotus position, his spiritual sense probing tirelessly, again and again attempting to meld with the very fabric of existence. One failure bred two, and two gave rise to ten!

Three more months slipped by, and Wang Lin had lost count of his attempts. But the result remained the same: a wall of resistance, unyielding and absolute.

Four months marked their passage. Some among the Azure Dragon Sect had indeed discovered living veins of terrestrial fire, but many more continued their frustrating search.

Wang Lin remained unwavering in his obsession. This art of “Dimensional Contraction,” he *must* unlock its secrets. For without it, his grand designs, the foundations of future ambition, would crumble to dust.

Du Qing had grown accustomed to Wang Lin’s spirit, like an ethereal net, draped across the Azure Dragon Sect’s domain. He watched, day after day, as the other attempted, failed, and attempted again, seemingly incapable of accepting defeat. In his heart, a seed of contempt began to sprout.

He dared not show it outwardly, but within, the disdain grew ever more potent.

*”This is madness!”* he thought. *”Utterly impossible! The man is far too stubborn, a fool to waste so much time. If merging with the heavens were so easily achieved, would not all men be capable?…”*

*”His cultivation is simply not strong enough, yet he persists! I cannot fathom why the Great Celestial values him so… a fool!”* He shook his head in weary dismissal.

Another three months vanished like smoke on the wind.

Wang Lin had now spent seven cycles of the moon in solitary contemplation, absorbed utterly by this one arcane art. He had forgotten all else. Crimson veins laced his eyes, bloodshot and weary, and his spiritual sense flickered with barely suppressed agitation.

Du Qing observed this descent into obsession and allowed a sneer to curl his lips.

*”Truly, I know not whether to pity or despise this fool. Favored though he may be by the Great Celestial, laden with magical treasures, attended by formidable beasts, he is utterly out of his depth!*

*”I shall watch and wait,”* he mused, *”to see the expression on his face when, after all this striving, he inevitably fails…”* Scorn glinted in his eyes, but beneath it lurked a deeper current: envy.

*”Why is it that I, Du Qing, have not earned the Great Celestial’s favor? Are only simpletons worthy of such regard?”* He bristled with resentment.

Seven long months of what he deemed to be utter folly had, slowly, reshaped Du Qing’s view. He now suspected Wang Lin was teetering on the brink of madness.

Within his secluded cavern, Wang Lin’s eyes blazed with an unholy light. The relentless expansion of his spiritual sense for seven unbroken months had pushed him to the very edge of his endurance. Even *he* felt the strain. Yet, he would not yield. He appeared to be locked in endless communion with the heavens, but in truth, he was driving himself to the limit!

More precisely, he was using this ordeal to goad the slumbering twin of his spirit – the nascent avatar within the petrified shell, gestating in the ethereal void.

After the first few days of fruitless attempts, Wang Lin realized that his current cultivation, however potent, would never be enough to overcome the cosmic pressure. Not in a year, not in a century.

But he possessed one final, desperate gambit: the growing avatar. Born within the very matrix of the immortal realms, it was, in essence, a part of the laws themselves. Thus, the key to his spiritual assimilation hinged upon its awakening.

Yet, his heart sensed that the avatar slumbered deeply, beyond his immediate reach. To rouse it, he required drastic measures. And so, for seven months, Wang Lin had relentlessly stretched his spiritual sense, pushing himself toward the precipice of exhaustion, even as his very soul showed signs of withering.

On the final day of the seventh month, in the instant that his spirit began to crumble, as his energy waned, a blinding light ignited within his eyes.

At that same moment, somewhere in the vast, lightless expanse between the Domain of the Caves and the Immortal Continent, within a gigantic, floating stone shell, Wang Lin’s sleeping avatar stirred. Its eyes snapped open.

As those eyes flickered to life, within the Azure Dragon Sect, Du Qing, the harbinger of scornful laughter, underwent a shocking transformation. A look of stark horror – a look he hadn’t worn in seven long months – spread across his face.

He bolted to his feet, his expression bordering on catatonia. What he now perceived defied comprehension.

*”The…the will…! This is impossible!”*